Avoidance Tactics
by Sweet Danish Yummy
Summary: Komui doesn't like doing his job luckily for him, Reever is more than capable of making sure he applies himself to his duties.


**Title:** Avoidance Tactics  
**Characters:** Jerry, Komui, Reever  
**Rating:** K  
**Summary:** Komui avoids his work, and it's up to Reever to find him.  
**Author's Note:** This was written as a birthday present for a friend of mine, Manik. It was, of course, late.  
**Disclaimer:** I am not Hoshino Katsura, and I do not own D. Gray-man, nor the characters within.

* * *

There is no more coffee. He can't quite remember the last time he fell asleep in bed, rather than slumped over his desk. He's fairly certain that, eventually, the planet is going to run out of trees to support their paperwork habit. The ink in two different pens has dried up completely, and the other dripped into the inside of his pocket, leaving a large black stain. He's in sore need of a bath and at this point would settle for a few minutes alone with his toothbrush. He's chewed his way through five different straws in the past three hours and there's a sticky spot on his desk where 65 had knocked over his last cup of soda pop (thankfully, none of the paperwork had been damaged). The top of his desk is lost under all the files and papers still needing authorization or reading, and the pile has gotten so big now that he can no longer see over the top of it to the desk across from his own. 

None of this is too noteworthy, and in fact is pretty much business as usual for the science section. However, the stacks of paperwork have gotten so mountainous now that one wrong move had resulted in a landslide that had buried Johnny quite effectively, and managed to break his glasses. So Reever figures it's about time to get a lot of these bigger stacks of files out of the office and down to archives. Which first means getting the Chief's signature on them.

Of course, upon organizing said files and going to said Chief's office, the man that should be there is, in fact, not. After depositing the paperwork carefully on a mostly clear corner of Komui's desk, Reever starts looking in all of his favorite hiding spots. Under his desk where he will sometimes store a pillow and blanket, on the couch which isn't really a hiding spot, behind a bookshelf where Komui had snuck in a discreet cot, to the back corner where, if you open the closet door, you can effectively snooze curled up between the door and the wall.

Unable to locate his boss, Reever actually stands in the center of the room for a moment, debating the merits of just going to his quarters, brushing his teeth, grabbing a quick cat-nap, and then resuming his search (once he gets more soda, of course). Still, his work ethic--impeccable as it is--overrides his personal needs as always and Reever sets out to search through Komui's other, more far-reaching, hiding spots.

It's sheer luck--or rather, luck of the situation--that has him checking the dining hall first. He needs the energy boost and another straw, though Reever knows that Komui has, on occasion, found refuge from his work in the kitchen. Why, exactly, doing some other form of work is preferable to his _actual_ duties is beyond Reever, but he doesn't try to understand his boss, merely tries to get him to do his job consistently.

Jerry is not at the window as Reever comes up, which isn't that odd since this is the lull between lunch and dinner and Jerry is usually distracted with preparing food at this point. So Reever leans on the sill and sticks his head into the kitchen, looking around for Jerry.

And instead immediately spots the Chief, covered in flour and merrily beating away at several slabs of meat with a tenderizer as Jerry, whisk flying through the contents of the bowl snug tight in the crook of his arm, cheers him on.

"You have all the finesse of a professional!" Jerry announces with an enthusiastic swish of his whisk, before settling the bowl down and giving the other man a friendly slap on the back. "I've always said you have the soul of a gourmet in you."

"Alas, a soul trapped in the body of a scientist." Komui says with an over dramatic sniff and a whack at the meat.

"You're wasted as a pencil pusher." And perhaps the little indignant huff at the end of this sentence is for the sake of humor, or perhaps Jerry really is a bit off-put that Komui would choose a career in which the only things he made were machines, not culinary masterpieces. It is hard to tell and perhaps, in the end, it simply doesn't matter.

"I know, I know." Komui seems to take it as a bit of humor, twirling the tenderizer between his fingers as he continues the preparations. "Though try and tell Reever that and see where it gets you."

He recognizes a perfect opportunity to interrupt when he hears one. Reever coughs loudly, giving his boss a dry look as the two men turn to face him.

"It'll get you back in your office, where you belong. You've got forms to sign."

Komui bid Jerry a tearful goodbye as Reever (almost literally) bodily drags him out of the kitchen, turning around a moment later to get the soda that he had almost forgotten. After all, if he falls asleep, who's going to keep Komui on track?


End file.
